Loving With My Fingers Crossed
by GOODMORNINGHEARTACHE
Summary: AU. Naomi and Emily haven't met in 3 years. It's starting to bug Naomi. Know nothing, own nothing. All Skins.
1. Every Kiss Is A Goodbye

**A/N: **I just wanted to say something. This fic is totally stolen. But from myself, I mean. I kind of wrote this a couple a year ago as another fanfiction for another tv-series. I've altered some things but not much. I wanted to try it with Naomily, thought it might be good. You be the judge now, yeah? Please review if you like it! Or hate it.

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Memories are funny in some ways. They linger on to something, somewhere, always in the back of your mind, choosing to appear when you need it the least. When you need it the most though, they're just gone for some reason. Pretty weird, huh? I've always thought so.

It had been awhile since I last thought about her. You know, really thought about her. Everytime I do the feeling is so overwhelming I end up in some kind of dream world, on the edge of insanity, feeling every touch, smell and outlines of her body. Reminiscing. How could I not. She was the apple of my eye. My shining star. Every cheesy crap you can relate too, she was it. Ever since I left Bristol I promised myself to never look back. Never share a glance, a look, a stare with someone in a loving way. Closing my walls in for the sake of being safe. Or maybe even for the sake of just being. I turned to my past, before her, and started living as carelessly as I did before brown eyes came across my path. Sleeping around with girls without kissing, drinking way too much and partying all too many nights in a row. I promised myself to never settle for anything or anyone again. That wasn't me. It never had been either. I just made a mistake.

Once.

I wasn't going to get much sleep this night, I already knew it so I got out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt and put on a pair of shorts before making my way out of the room.

I had a great apartment. It was a one bedroom apartment on the top floor of a building in the heart of London. Leather couches, a big screen TV, a huge sound system with an equally large CD-collection, the biggest library you could it in a room and a deep red backdrop in the living room – it literally screamed my name all over the place. Seeing that I inherited an enormous sum of money (that would at least last for a lifetime if not more) when my fllthy rich grandmother passed away I took the opportunity to buy this charming apartment and spent an equal amount on the interior of it.

I came here for university. Sure, I could live the rest of my life in luxury without actually having to move a single finger but becoming my botox loving mother wasn't really what I strived for in life. One of us was enough for this world. So I pursued my interest in music and found a great school here in London that gave the students an opportunity to experience the good side of life. We got to record, produce and party with the hottest names in the business. I loved it. I loved everything about my life. Almost. I was lonely, but I tried not to think about it most of the times. Instead I turned to my random fucks every now and then. And by that I mean every other night. But I liked it. I liked living that way. Winning them over with my unavoidable charm, teasing them, tempting them. Call me self-righteous but it was way too easy to resist. They loved me and I loved the fact that they did.

But I had my rules and everyone who knew me knew them. And if they didn't they just had to learn. First of all, no kissing on the mouth. Whatsoever. I remember one girl trying to cross that line. We were on our way back to my place, doing everything but making out in the elevator while heading up when she chose to push her luck a little bit too far, leaning in, brushing her lips against mine. I remember feeling her hot breath panting against my mouth, her tongue begging for entrance. And I, of course, being true to my words, snapped. I backed away and stared at her with frowning brows as I started to yell at her. I couldn't help it. Accusing her for being stupid. Telling her how she was crazy thinking she could just waltz into my life and become a part of it. Before stepping out of the elevator I turned around to face her one last time and spat in her face. She looked at me with fear in her eyes as if she had just seen a ghost. I remember letting out a small scornful smile before ditching her. Never saw her again after that. Anyway, rule number two; never EVER assume you can stay the night after spending it with me. It was that easy. No kissing, no sleeping over. Most girls complied with the rules and the ones that didn't learned one way or another.

I entered my living room and switched on the lights. I found my clothes that I wore earlier that night scattered around the floor, just as I left them hours before. My eyes met the clock hanging on the wall, telling me it was long past midnight. While placing a cigarette between my lips I turned on the TV and went for the lighter. After taking a long, fulfilling and poisonous drag I leaned back in my chair and rested my eyes on the screen. Not really being in the mood for zapping through channels I settled for some shitty rerun of ANTM. I really hated Tyra Banks. Especially when she always felt the need to show them how to look, as she always loved putting it, "fierce". I laughed every fucking time.

I flipped my phone open, wondering who might be up at this hour, wanting to speak to someone. While taking another drag I scrolled through my contact list suddenly freezing by the sight of that name.

_Emily._

Why was it still there? My heart started immediately to race, my breath getting caught in the back of my throat, face flushing and fingers shaking. Reminding me I'm still alive. Reminding me of warmer days. Lost summers. Gentle kisses. Wandering hands. Memories poured over me like autumn rain.

I thought I erased that name a long time ago. Years ago.

Apparently not. And I couldn't do it this time either.

I never could.


	2. Sometimes It's Just Butterflies

**Chapter 2**: _Sometimes It's Just Butterflies, Other Times A Hurricane_

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There are moments in life you'd give everything to remember. To always remember. You know, the ones you keep holding on to for dear life, afraid that if you loosen the grip, just a tiny bit, they all disappear. Vanish almost. Falling into a darkness you're too afraid to approach. To look in to. To touch.

I keep thinking I dropped them. I lost them. I forgot them. Because, no matter how hard I try to remember I can't seem to understand why we shattered. Why we broke into these little pieces, all too small to glue back together.

It had been great. We had been great. All along. We had shared two unbelievable years together. She was everything to me. And I was to her, at least, that's what she told me. That's what she showed me. Walking into my life with rays of sunlight warming my empty heart. She came along with her piercing brown eyes and turned my world around. Taught me about love. About trust. So where did we go wrong? When was it I became too unbearable to be with? Too disgusting? I know it was just a matter of time, everybody did, but I wonder when you realized it?

I still wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and pale, looking for you on the other side. Reaching for you.

_A month had passed, and I still hadn't made the move. We held hands, We cuddled close, I'd kissed her temple, I'd nibbled on her earlobe, I'd kissed her neck but I had barely touched her lips. Once. With my thumb though. I respected her wishes and came to the conclusion that she would come to me when she was ready. And she did._

_It was a rainy August afternoon and by the judge of it, it was the first in a long long time. We had spent the entire day at the beach, our faces flushed and our limbs tired. After running around a whole day, swimming, eating and well, being in love, you might be a bit worn-out. And we were. _

_Everything looked so wonderful. Grey clouds had placed themselves above the city lights like a heavy sheet of dimness, the scent of rain pouring down nameless streets. We watched as it made its way through, people running all over Bristol trying to hide from the hammering rain while we adored it. _

_We breathed it. We smelled it. We tasted it. We loved it. _

_And it loved us. _

_Our names written across the sky, the rainbow telling us never to forget the memorable moments, making its way through a thick layer of darkness, shining down on us with all its strength. With all its colour. I loved just watching her. We were sitting in a small shed, its top covering our bodies from the wet. Emily was sitting between my legs, resting her head on my shoulder. My arms tightly wrapped around her waist. We were watching the sea swallowing the sand, polishing the beach like never before. We were alone. Just us the water. Us and the nature being on opposite sides of life. Fighting for dominance, struggling for control but we already knew we'd lost it. A long time ago. _

_I kissed her temple, it smelled like the ocean and it tasted its salt. But even then, a minimal trace of vanilla made its way through. Mixing together like red bull and vodka. Gin and tonic. Rum and Coke. Pancakes and syrup. A mixture of taste. A mixture of perfection. And I loved it. I loved her._

_She leaned into the touch, her hand that once rested on my leg was now on its way up, caressing my neck, pulling me closer. Pulling me in. _

_We could hear the sound of raindrops falling down, drowning out the silence between us. She stopped. But didn't move. She just gazed at me. Cobalt blue meeting chocolate brown. Burning its way through. Piercing me. Searching for permission. I smiled. She pulled me closer. Wiping my grin away in no time. My heart was racing, pounding, beating faster than a bongo drum. I know she felt it. I know she heard it._

_Her lips brushed against mine. She was teasing. I swallowed. Hard. She parted them, nibbling on my lower lip, tasting it, gently biting down. My eyes fluttered shut. I think hers did too. I could feel her hot breath against mine, heartbeats racing, trying to work in a rhythmic pace. Two becoming one. My hand tangled in red tresses, I pulled in closer, even closer, tasting her. Closing the gap. The rain drowned our quiet moans. Tongues begging for entrance, struggling for dominance. I could have stayed there forever. Tasting her._

_We broke apart, panting against one another. I could hear her smile, I swear I could. But I still don't know for sure, my eyes wouldn't open at first, reliving the kiss for just a little bit longer. When they finally did they met the gaze of indigo brown eyes. And I was right. She was smiling. And I was too. The rainbow still shining, telling us to never forget. Telling us to bottle these butterflies that were flying around in our stomachs. Telling us that memories should be kept in a sacred place._

_A special place._

I still keep them glued to my chest.

I think I fell asleep sometime around sunrise. I didn't really look at the time, I just remember how sunlight forced itself in through my window, resting on my body like a warming blanket. A much needed blanket. A forgetting blanket. I was waking up to Wednesday, a day free from classes and other daily chores. My neck was hurting as I got up from the couch I fell asleep in last night. I raised a hand to it and rubbed it slowly as I yawned my way into the kitchen. Wasn't really hungry though. I took out a glass and poured myself some water. My throat felt sore. Wait, let me rephrase that – my whole body felt sore. Remind me to not sleep on the couch again.

Making my way through the living room I heard my phone ring. Fastening my pace I reached for it without looking at the ID-display.

"What?" I said angerly, not really caring who it was.

"Eyy, Naomikins! I hear someone's having a shitty morning?" a male voice responded.

It was Cook.

Cook and I had been keeping in touch ever since I moved. We talked about once a week maybe, just checking up on each other. He was currently still living in Bristol, playing for the local football team. I know, it sounds totally wierd but he's actually good at it. He never minded getting fucked though. His true colours still shining through. Life was working out pretty good for him. Seeing that settling down really wasn't his thing while he was enjoying, as he insisted putting it, "the time of his life", he never really had a proper girlfriend. Sleeping around wasn't something he'd turn down though. I guess we were kind of alike.

"Shut up. I fell asleep on the couch. My body hurts." I groaned back.

"I see.. couldn't even keep it in your pants until you reached bed, huh?" He chuckled a bit. Thinking he was being funny. Like always.

"Whatever, asswipe. So, to what do I owe this awful phone call?"

"Aww, don't be like that now, muff muncher." Cook threw back. Again, thinking he was hilarious.

"Well, if you must know, I didn't sleep with anyone on my couch, asshole. I slept with someone in my bed."

"Then how come you woke up in the living room?"

"Because I woke up in the middle of the night, not being able to fall asleep again. So I went for a smoke and watched some TV. I guess I eventually fell asleep. Get it?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. So, what's up? You still coming next week?"

Yeah, I was heading back to Bristol. Only for a week, though. Left it three years ago and never looked back. My mom had called, telling me that I unfortunately had to revisit her. Something about finishing up some paper work, meeting with my grandmothers former lawyers. Blah blah. Probably something about money. It always was. Nothing except those green dollar bills could oblige my mother to actually call me and be polite. And by polite I mean making it through a one minute phone call without calling me a whore.

"Nothing much. I'm free today so I'll just chill or something. Yeah, still coming. What about you?"

"Well, I think I'll just stay in bed the rest of the day. I'm so fucking hung over."

"What did you do?"

"I was out last night with the guys. We went to a new place called "Seven" and they were handing out free drinks."

"Aaah, got it." It really did explain his hang over. Free drinks + Cook has never been a good combination.

"Yeah, it was totally awesome though. We all got so drunk and Andrew started hitting on everything around him that moved, literally. He even came on to Emily!"

He was now laughing his ass off, I could hear it. My mouth dropped though, my voice choking in my throat, face flushing, heart pounding, body shaking. Just like yesterday.

It finally dawned on him, mentioning Emily wasn't the brightest idea. It never had been. Everytime he did the conversation ended badly. I guess he was so hung over he even forgot that. I still heard him on the phone. Repeating my name. Aplogizing. But I couldn't speak. Couldn't get a word out. Just silence.

I closed the phone. Dropped it to the floor. Leaving Cook alone with the dial tone.

Everything coming back. Smothering me.

I wonder what she's doing and who she's with. If she's still sleeping with her legs delicately tangled with the sheets or if she still bites down at her lip when getting excited. I wonder who she fancies and if she still stutters when she gets nervous. Who she thinks of when going to bed and whose neck she cuddles up into before falling asleep. I wonder if she still smells like vanilla or if she still tilts her head to the left when she leans in for a gentle kiss. I wonder what makes her heart beat faster and what she's longing for. I wonder if her tiny freckles still lives on her velvety pale skin and if anyone else have noticed them.

Touched them.

Counted them.

Kissed them.

I wonder if she still remembers that I did.


	3. Your Flesh Has Been My Pillow

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews! **Slushhy** totally got it right. It is an old South of Nowhere fic I've written. After re-reading it I thought it might even be a better Naomily story. Characterwise I think that there are some elements of resemblance between the stories. But I like the mix too. Naomi studying music instead of environment (not saying it's a good thing) is something I like. Oh, and yes, Naomi's mom is a total bitch in this story. It's not that long, only 14 chapters. But if you like this re-take, then let me know and I'll write a FULLY new story. And as mentioned before.. If it totally sucks or if it feels weird that it's another story to begin with, lemme know!

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**Chapter 3**. Your Flesh Has Been My Pillow

I've always had a thing for hands. Delicate hands. Slender fingers and soft skin. They hold so much underneath the exterior. Folds that people barely see. People choosing not to see. Not many notice. Finding them beautiful. Merely using them for the sake of being used. Using them because they're there. Never wondering why.

You should treat hands like you treat a loved one. You should care for them and nurture them like if it was the last time you saw them. Used them. You should cherish them for the reason that it is with those hands, those subtle fingers, those forgotten fingertips that gives you the sensation of feeling someone else. Feeling curves and trailing silhouettes.

I once read that our hands holds a mixture of thousands nerves bundled inside of us. Nerves that connects us. That shapes us. That gives us the opportunity to feel. To love. To shiver. Nerves that tells us about life. About things we take for granted each passing day. Such as letting you know that the newly washed cotton sheet is being rough against your skin. Or when telephone digits are been pushed correctly. Gloves not squeezing to tight. Or hands fitting perfectly with yours telling you never to let go.

Nerves that tell us about fate and how we never see it coming.

Time passes fast when you try to prevent yourself from falling over. Stumbling down. Submerging. Standing between your past and future, trying to find a steadier footing. Something to hold on to when the rollercoaster reaches its peak. Troubled heartbeats transforms into a soundless darkness, trembling fingers showing its shade. The past week turning into a blur when thinking back on it. Fragments of people coming and going, leaving no signs of light for me to find, no faces for me to examine, no fingers for me to lightly stroke. Only questions I've never known how to resolve.

_It must have been the warmest day of the year. July wrapping its humid air around us. I can't even tell if its morning or night, the only thing revealing its time is the sunlight. The warm touch of light against my tanned skin. I'm lying beside her, unaware of the dawning day, the new beginning taking its place inside my restless heart. She touches my hair, She follows my jaw line, like she's taking in every bit of me, like a polaroid picture for her heart to see. _

_I'm not even moving. Not leaning in. Not backing away. Just breathing calmly against the stained sheets. Against her arm and wavering fingers. Goosebumps forming though this room couldn't be warmer. I'm not freezing. She's watching in awe. I'm reliving our touches. The gentle kisses and the soft moans we shared the night before. She's taking in every patch of skin as she makes her way to the small of my back. _

_If she ever leaves I have this to remind me, I have the summer mornings and winter nights that shared its calmness through the feeling of her skin against mine. I'm still not moving but she's already gone. Lost in red tresses and chocolate eyes. I'm thinking I'll never wake up. I'll never leave this. I never did._

I'm leaving grounds, heading back to what I've always called home. Not because of the house I grew up in or the nights I've spent as a teenager sneaking around in the backyard smoking a spliff. Neither for the summer days in all its glory, the sand beneath my feet or the sunrise that rose each morning outside my window telling me each time that there'll be brighter days to find. No. But for the gentle hands that have grazed mine so many times. The outlines of silky fingers that shaped a universe beyond this world for me to see. The lazy circles painted on my stomach and the tender fingertips that once formed them.

I'm leaving grounds and I can feel my hand squeezing the arm rest as we lift into the oblivious. The only place where time stands still. We're moving towards everything yet at the same time never reaching out. Not a single hand to hold on to, grab a hold of, lean into.

I'm flying and I'm trying so hard to not look down. Squeezing harder as I force myself to take a peak. But all I see is brown. All I see is fingers exploring mine. Tracing every contour of hidden folds we always seem to overlook. Knowingly revealing the cracks we spend a lifetime trying to cover up. To hide.

I'm thinking I'll never wake up. I'll never leave this.

I never did.


	4. This Is A Place Where Young Lovers Meet

**A/N**: Thank you everyone for the reviews. I'm really glad you like it!

**Chapter 4**: This Is A Place Where Young Lovers Meets

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They always say that a picture says more then a thousand words. I couldn't agree more. A picture though, as many may like to believe, does not always have to be painted. Or taken as a snap shot. Glowing on a canvas. Or be showed as image on a screen. No. A picture can also exist only in your mind to see. In your light and through your perspective.

Pictures that holds a future, a feeling, a darkness or a all of the above composed into a scenery. A location you keep close to your heart. Sacred moments or haunted recollections. They're all there. Inside of you. Burning on the inside of your eyelids. Crawling underneath your skin. Pushing and pulling. Screaming for the attention we many times choose to deny it.

I know where they are. Because it's where I keep mine. And I also know what I see.

It is a picture. An image. A canvas in my thoughts. A snap shot in my head.

And it says more than a thousand words.

It says everything.

_Green grass have never seemed greener. The blue sky almost pouring over us. We know everything. We are free. Untamed adolescences escaping the madness that exists outside this bubble. That exists beyond these years. An open field and we're lying on it. In the centre of it. Making snow angels without its snow. Without the steaming breaths and padded jackets. _

_Our eyes tearing up from squinting against the heating sun. She always wins. She always holds her gaze the longest. Never turning away. I have closed my eyes a long time ago. I catch the sight of green dots floating. I'm trying to focus on one but it keeps slipping away. I groan. She knows why. She always knows. She always knows I try to grasp them. I never do. _

_Our hands are touching now. Two angels combined into one. Love as a whole. Us as a whole. The wind lightly brushes against our bodies. A silent whisper. A calm summer breeze. Hiding its colour but showing its shade. It soothes me. _

_She tells me that I'm beautiful. Her voice is as smooth as honey to my ears. I swallow hard. I always do when she compliments me. When she's serious. When the only thing that exists is us and flesh that separates our hearts from another. And she means it. She always means it when her voice is lowered and the laughter is out of our reach. Not hiding. Just resting. Giving us a moment of honesty. I squeeze her hand. Letting her now that I heard her. That I'm taking it in. That I'm taking it with me. _

_Our comfortable silence returns to its previous position. Settling down as it rested before we broke it. We will break it again soon. It's a matter of minutes. But we cherish these seconds. These moments. These days. Because we're speaking through nerves and radiated heat. Our voices resting. Our minds running. But it needs to be broken. Soon. I know she will break it again. It usually is. I don't mind. I never mind. And she likes the fact that I don't. She likes the feeling of never being in the way. Never disturbing. _

_The clouds are on vacation today. Taking a day off. Visiting their loved ones maybe. I don't know. I rarely do. I can feel the grass underneath my bare feet. Tickling me. Tickling her. But none of us laugh. There is no need to. We both know. _

_She breaks it again. She says that she loves me. Her voice a little more unsteady. Not insecure. But wobbly. I swallow harder. I know she is scared. She knows I am too. But not right now. Not today. And neither is she. I reply. I say the same thing. I've been longing to tell her. She's been longing too. She's squeezes my hand. Letting me know that she heard me. That she's taking it in. That she's taking it with her. _

We're closing in. We're waking up. Relentlessly letting time continue its route. And I'm holding my breath. I'm counting the seconds. I'm squeezing again. It's been hours but I can see it now. The endless harbour. The trees and the river. The city and the lost beauty that shimmers inside of it. Telling a story.

We all have a story to tell. A picture to show. An image.

A canvas in our thoughts. A snap shot in our heads.

And it says more than a thousand words.

It says everything.


	5. You Shouldn't Think What You're Feeling

**Chapter 5. **_You Shouldn't Think What You're Feeling_

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Just like a picture, silence can also say more than thousand words. Than millions of them. We can talk through eyes. Through hands. Through signs. If we were forced, we could last a lifetime without speaking. Many do. Thousands do. Millions do. I sometimes wish I was one of them. It would be easier. You'd never end up being in a situation where you'd have to explain your choice of words. You'd never say the wrong things. You wouldn't have to worry about stuttering. But of course, there is a downside. There always is. Silence never lies.

_She's looking and I know what she's seeing. But she's not speaking. She's not saying anything. Neither am I. I know why she's here. I know why it's raining outside. I suddenly know everything. And she knows that I do. This moment doesn't need our ears. This moment doesn't need our voices. We're speaking through silence. And she knows that I hear her. She knows that I'm listening. _

_She's touching me now. Her hand against my cheek. Her fingers grazing my lips. She's crying. I know why she's crying. I know why she's here. But I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should comfort her. Here eyes are telling me no, so I don't. I sit in front of her. On my own bed. In my own house. Listening to her goodbyes. Listening through her hands. Her eyes. Her heartbeat. She knows that I know. That I know what she's doing. She knows I'm trying to stop her. She knows I forgive her. She knows everything. Because I'm saying it. I'm shouting it. I'm screaming my eyes out for her to understand it. My hands out. My heartbeats out. Everything out. All in silence. And she's hearing me. Turning away. _

_I grap her wrist. I'm not letting her leave. I'm crying too now. She can't watch it. She can't stand it. I cup her face. I kiss her lips. It's desperate. It's hungry. She can feel it. I'm telling her it is. I'm saying it with my whole body. She's crying harder. I grasp harder. Pulling her closer. _

_She's kissing me back. Her hands are in my hair. My hand is in her. She shuts her eyes. I never stop looking. I'm taking it all in. Every word. Every feeling. Every remaining touch. I suddenly know everything but I don't want to listen. She know that I don't. She's kissing me harder. I'm paying attention to the quiet moans. Her hands still in my hair. My hand still inside her. This moment doesn't need our ears. This moment doesn't need our voices. This moment only need us. And we're here. Cutting the line. Breaking the waves. Closing in time. Loving through silence. Tasting its words. Saying our goodbyes. _

We're touching grounds. Stroking the landing strip with rubber wheels. I'm already awake. We all are. The captain is speaking. Saying something about the weather. I'm not listening. He's thanking me for flying with him. Thanking us all. Hoping to see us soon. Wishing us a pleasant stay. I'm thinking he couldn't be more wrong. I'm still not listening. Just taking in words. Nothing coherent. Nothing worth remembering. Just the common pleasantries. We've all heard them before. He's couldn't care less. Neither could we. But we're all smiling. He's probably doing it to. Involuntarily. Daily routines. I'm thinking he must be tired of it. We all are. The plane finally stops. Reaching its destination. People are beginning to rise. I am too. We're heading for the exit. The flight attendants are saying their goodbyes. Smiling. Involuntarily. Their daily routines. We're smiling too.

Most of the passengers heads for the baggage claim area. I'm not though. I always travel lightly. Dragging my suitcase behind my feet. There's people all over this place. Waiting. Holding their flowers and hoping for the best. I rush pass them. Needing a cigarette. Passing the glass doors. Lighting up. Watching as the paper burns. The ember flickering. I'm taking a drag. Filling my lungs. Calming me. The wind isn't catching it while I blow out. It's just circulating in front of me, around me, trying to find a steady pace. I am too.

I'm waiting for Cook to pick me up. I called him back last week, furious at him for even mentioning her name but as much as I hated him for it I still needed a ride. I still needed him. And he knew it. I needed the comfort. The shoulder to lean on. So here I am, once again, waiting. A redheaded girl passes me by. I immediately tense up. Thinking it's her. It's not. It never is.

I'm watching the clock. Cook is late. He always is. The cigarette is reaching its end. I put it out. Turning left. Turning right. There's no sight of him. Just redheaded girls passing me by. I'm constantly tensing up.

"Hey, Naomi, over here!" a voice yells. I know who it is.

Cook is standing by his car, not far away, waiving his hand in the air. Waiving it for me to see. I give him a small smirk. He returns it.

We're saying our hellos, holding each other in a tight hug, asking the standard questions. He still smells the same. A mixture of Jean Paul Gaultier and the ocean. I always liked it. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel warm. I've missed it. I've missed him and I know he missed me too.

"So, I'm sorry I'm late. You know how the traffic can be.." he says while starting the engine. I'm sitting in the passenger seat, watching as we are making our way through the gates. Making our way through the streets I once knew by heart. I still do though. Almost.

"It's ok. I needed to smoke anyway." I reply a bit absently. He heard it. I blamed it on jetlag. He just nodded in understanding.

"So Naomikins.. I'm sorry about last week. I didn't mean to you know.. It just slip-" I interrupt him. "Stop it, Cook, ok? I don't want to hear about it. It doesn't matter. Just leave it." I'm starting to get frustrated. He's making me upset. Why can't he just be quiet? All I want I silence. Just.. silence.

"Ok, I'm sorry. Chill out, yeah? What's the matter with you? You seem so out of it." He's looking at me with a familiar look. He's being worried. I'm just tired. I'm just so awfully tired. The radiating sun against my skin is making me sleepy. I close my eyes. I groan. I'm just tired. I'm just so awfully tired.

"I'm just tired. Please Cook." I'm trying to sound nice. I'm trying to sound nice but tired. "I've been flying with this fat guy sitting next to me on the plane snoring like an elephant while I tried to catch up on my beauty sleep that I've lost for days. It didn't really do it for me."

He lets out a chuckle. I do too.

"Ok, ok, I get it. As long as you're alright though." He's still concerned. I can hear it on his voice. He has a tough exterior for sure, but he's never been one to hide it when he's worried.

"I'm fine. I just need a bit of rest and then I'll be all up and ready for you to play with." I give him a small grin. He's grinning back.

"That I like to see. Finally gonna get to bone you, am I? I'm dropping you off at the hotel. And I'm picking you up there tonight! We're gonna party like never before!" He's beaming now. I can see it on his face. I just laugh. Letting him know I'm alright. But I stay silent. I need the silence. He understands.

Everything still looks the same. Same people are walking the streets. Same skaters are hitting the parks. Same kids are holding hands and same paths are leading the way. I never really missed Bristol when I left it. I just wanted to get away. Find my escape. Forget it all. Forget the heartache and tearstained pillows. Forget red curls and biting lips.

Forget the warmth. And rain.

I'm not saying I did though. I just wanted to. But I managed. I made my way. I did my thing. I never looked back. Not much. Not deliberately. Occasionally.

"So.. I'll call you around nine, ok? You better be up and ready to go then!" Cook says. He's not waiting for me to answer. "It's good seeing you again, lezza. I've missed you." I smile as a reply. He's smiling too. He drives away.

I'm already checking in now. Heading for my room. Opening the door. Closing it behind me. Leaving my bag standing beside it. I'm lying on the bed. Falling asleep. Falling apart. I'm thinking I just need a couple of hours. I'm thinking they will do me good. I'm thinking about the pilot. Wishing me a pleasant stay. I'm thinking the hotel is doing the same.

They couldn't be more wrong. But they smile. Involuntarily. Their daily routines. They couldn't care less. Neither could I. But they're smiling.

And I'm falling asleep. Falling apart. In silence.


	6. Anyone Will Do Tonight

**C****hapter 6.** _Anyone Will Do Tonight_

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_I don't know where we are. I don't recognize this place and I'm not familiar with this surrounding. We're at this viewing point. But I don't know what we are watching. Or why we are watching. I see a valley, I see a river making its way through it but I can't for the love of my life disclose where I am. Because I have no idea. The sun is setting slowly behind the valley tops, closing us in with the darkness. Humid air surrounds us as we stand together watching it die. _

_She's right behind me. Her arms are around me. Her head is resting comfortably on my shoulder. She smells nice. That's the first thing that comes to my mind. A mixture again. Vanilla and gasoline. I've always loved the smell of gasoline. It reminds me of that time we drove around a whole night, just wanting to be alone. To get away. My mother was throwing some party at home, forbidding me to even put my foot through the door and the Fitch's resident was not an option. It rarely was. At least when Jenna was home. She never liked me. Everytime I was there she'd always try to put me down. In one way or another. So we took my moms car and headed for anywhere. We made a stop at a gas station about 20 miles south. The scent of fuel was overflowing the air as I made my way to the gas pump. I loved it. I loved her. I don't know why that's relevant but I remember thinking that when I watched her through the window. She was falling asleep, resting her head against the glass. She was so beautiful. She always has been. But I have no idea why she's wearing that scent now though. Maybe our car broke down. Maybe we're stranded. I don't know. But I do know that I like this. I like this view and I love her silky hands that are now drawing circles underneath my shirt. On my bare stomach. I pull her closer as I take a deep breath. She knows why. I need her closer. I need her closer then ever. I don't know why. I don't know why we're here but I'm pulling her closer, afraid that she might leave. I don't know why she would. But I'm scared. And I know she feels it. _

_The sound of a telephone suddenly makes its way to my ear which causes her to remove her hands. I freeze. It's hurting my ears. It's too loud. I tell her to make it stop. But she just backs away. Her eyes blaming me for ruining the moment. Now it's her time to look scared. She stares at me as if I was going to hurt her. Like if the sound was coming out of my mouth. Like I was yelling. Screaming. Warning her. Making her back away. I try to pull her closer. The ringing isn't stopping. I close my eyes. My ears are hurting too much now. When I finally open them again she's already gone. The sun has already gone down. I'm standing there alone. Not a single soul in sight. No one to help me. To tell me where I am. Or why I'm here. And the shouting tone is still piercing through my ears._

I realize it's my phone. I'm waking up. I'm coming to it. Focusing. I'm reaching for it. Not really comprehending what's happening. Not knowing the difference between what's real and not. I'm suddenly in a hotel room. I'm suddenly waking up. She's yet nowhere to be seen and the viewing point is long gone. I'm coming to it. I'm starting to remember. And the phone is still ringing in my hand.

"What?!" I answer. I'm raising my voice. I sound pissed. I think I am pissed.

"Hey.. chill down there. It's just me. I was just gonna tell you I'm picking you up in a hour. Be ready" Cook said before hanging up.

I closed the phone. Put it back on the nightstand. I should probably get ready.

After taking a quick shower and applying my makeup I turn to my bag to find something to wear for tonight. I decide to wear my favourite pair of black skinny jeans. A thin long sleeved white top and a short vest on top of it. I'm putting on my shoes. My point shaped ballets. I always loved dressing comfortable. Casual. Nice casual. Casual can hold so much beauty. I always thought so. There's a beauty beneath it just glowing when someone actually wears something that's relaxing. Everyone who does always seem to be more secure with themselves. At least that's what I've experienced. So I'm doing the same and I'm looking hot. Like a combination of Kate Moss and Sienna Miller heading out for lunch in the city. Apart from the sunglasses though. It would be kind of strange showing up at night club wearing shades. And sure, I maybe weird sometimes but not that weird. But I'm ready. Ready to go out. Ready to drink. To party. To forget. I need this night and Cook knows it. That's why he's picking me up now. I'm heading down to the lobby. He is already waiting.

After a long discussion we eventually came to the decision to go to our regular club. For old times sake. The place held a lot of memories, but tonight I wasn't focusing on the ones I shared with her. I was focusing on myself. On the many nights I picked up random girls. I was focusing on the countless nights I got drunk and flirted with the different bartenders. I was focusing on everything except her. And it felt good. I just need a drink and everything will be great.

The guys was meeting us up there. They were Cook's friends from university, but I knew some of them since college. We made it in and sat down in one of the cubicles. Drinking our drinks and laughing. Knowing very well I wasn't drunk enough, I kept focusing. Focusing on myself. On the laughter escaping my mouth.

There wasn't many people I recognized here. After all, I left this place for three years. It would be pathetic if the same people was still here fishing around. But, at the same time, it wouldn't surprise me. I'm heading for the bar. I need more. I need focus. A girl was standing beside me as I ordered four liquorice shots. Downing them within seconds. Fire burning down my throat but I don't care. I need focus. She looked stunning. I'm flashing her a smile. She's returning it. She's starting to talk to me. I don't really know what I'm saying. It feels like I'm on autopilot. I'm just talking. I think I'm introducing myself. I feel her hand in mine. They're shaking. We must be introducing ourselves but I'm not catching her name. I'm focusing on her lips. They seem soft. I'm examining her face, the green colour of here eyes, her black haircut that's vainly covering one of her eyes. She is beautiful. It would be wrong of me to describe her looks in any other way. I need focus. I need her. Tonight.

She's dragging me out to the dance floor. We are moving to the beats. I'm dancing. She's dancing. We're dancing with each other. I'm not feeling a thing. Only numbness. I'm focusing. She's moving closer. Her hands on my hips. She's grinding against me. Her hands delicately playing with the hem of my shirt. She's touching skin now. I lean in to the touch. She smells like fresh baked bread. Maybe she's a baker. Maybe she just likes fresh baked bread. I don't know. I just know she smells like it and I can't resist inhaling that scent. I need it. I need focus.

She moves her hand to the small of my back. Caressing me. Stroking me. I breathe harder. She's even closer. She's panting against my ear. I think she is trying to tell me something. But I can't hear her. I can't feel her. I'm focusing. She's telling me I'm hot. She's telling me everything she wants to do with me. About making out in the bathroom. About heading to her place later. I'm letting out a lazy smile. I turn to her ear. I'm whispering back.

"Just so you know.. I don't kiss."

She looks at me as if I'm crazy. Like if she is asking herself what the fuck she's doing with me. As if wondering what she should do next. Why she is wasting her time grinding against someone like me when all she was looking for was a make out session. Someone to fool around with. But she's starting to push her luck.

"Why not?" She asks. Still panting.

"It's not my thing. You got a problem with that?" I'm starting to get annoyed. I'm losing my focus.

She's thinking about leaving. I can see it in her eyes. She doesn't know what to answer. Her eyes flickering all over the place. But her confusion is letting go of its grip. She starts chuckling. Leaning in. Planting a wet and long kiss on my neck and then turns to my ear again. The panting has stopped now. She is just breathing now. Slowly. Slowly but hard.

"No.." She pauses. "I don't have a problem with that." She's breathing harder now. Sucking on my earlobe. "I don't need to kiss you to fuck you." She whispers.

I'm clearing my throat. I'm taken by surprise. I'm focusing.

She's hauls me towards the bathroom. On the way I meet Cooks eyes. He's standing by the bar. Girls surrounding him. I can tell he's having a good time. And by the judge of his look, he's thinking the same about me. He smiles. I wink back at him.

Suddenly I can feel myself being shoved against the bathroom wall. Tile against back. She has that look in her eyes. That look telling her she wants me. Revealing everything she wants to do with me. They are turning into a darker shade of green. Her hand is still playing with the hem of my shirt. Just like it did on the dance floor. I'm focusing.

"I want you." She says. Her voice is low.

"What are you waiting for then?" I say. I smirk. She's biting her lip. Grinding against me again.

I'm touching her now. She's closing her eyes. Her lips are on my neck, kissing. Sucking. Licking. They're planting firm kisses along the exposed skin. I'm exhaling loudly. She reaches my pulse point. I'm trying to focus. Hard. Harder. Hardest. I don't know if it's working. But I'm trying.

I'm holding back a moan.

I can't hear a word. I can't hear anything. Not even the music.

Just the sound of my blood. Rushing.

I'm taking control. We're switching places. I'm pushing her against the wall now. My hands are under her top. Touching. Stroking. She's panting. Moaning everytime I reach her sensitive spots. I'm playing. I'm teasing. I'm focusing. I reach her breasts. I hear her swallowing a moan. Her knees buckled for a second. Her hands are shaking. They're tangled up in my hair. She pulls me closer as I move my hand towards the hem of her jeans. I know she's struggling not to kiss me. I'm unbuttoning them. Pulling down the zipper. I can feel one of her hands fumbling with mine.

I'm inside her now. She's biting down on my shoulder. She's panting. I'm focusing on the tile behind her. Just focusing. I think she's saying my name. I can't even recall me giving it to her. But she knows it. She's says between her groans. I'm focusing. She's breathing harder. I'm thrusting harder.

I don't know how long we've been in here. I don't know anything right now. I'm just focusing.

I can't hear the music. I can't hear her moans.

I can't hear anything except my blood rushing. My heart beating.

It's getting warm. I'm still thrusting. She is still bucking her hips against me.

I need air. I turn my head from her neck. I'm resting it on her shoulder. Focusing on the mirror. She moans louder now.

But I freeze.

We're not alone. I don't know how long she's been watching but we're not alone.

Time stops. Taking a break. Pausing the moment.

I'm caught in the spotlight. Looking like fucking bambi on ice.

I meet her gaze in the mirror. She looks at me in shock. She's not moving. I'm not breathing. Trying to focus. Focus. With my fingers inside someone else, I'm trying to focus.

Brown eyes piercing through mine. I'm trying to focus. Panicking.

The girl in my arms looks up. I'm trying to focus. She's wondering why I stopped.

She's noticing we're not alone. Trying to button her jeans. I'm still trying to focus.

Trying to regain my breath in vain. My heart has stopped.

My palms are sweaty. I'm turning pale. Focusing.

I'm trying to speak. I can't get a word out. Focusing.

I'm trying again. Not a word.

Last time.

"Emily".


	7. I Wish That I Was Bullet Proof

**A/N:** Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad to see you that like it. You're great!

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**Chapter 7. **I Wish That I Was Bullet Proof

We all have our moments of regret. Seconds, hours, days in life we keep wishing we could turn back time for and redo. Make up for everything that went away. It can be anything. Words spoken at the wrong time. Actions turning in to consequences you'd never see coming. It can be asking a woman if she's pregnant when she's really just gained a bit of weight. Or slapping your best friend during a meaningless fight. It can be cheating on your girlfriend or missing out on a trip you really wanted to go on but made a last minute decision to stay home. Or forgetting to ask for that hot girls phone number during that frat party where you'd had a little bit too much to drink. It can be throwing up the same night on your mothers favourite leather couch. As I said. It can be anything.

Remorseful moments have a special way to make an impact on your life. I've had my share. But I've stopped counting them. Because they keep coming, no matter what. And this was just one of them.

Everything is coming back to life. I can hear the music. I can hear the girl underneath me fumbling with her zipper. I can hear my heart pounding through my ears. I'm surprised that not everybody is hearing it. The loud throbbing is giving me a headache. I'm already trembling. She is still standing there. I'm still focusing. But I can't move.

The dark haired girl is now dressed. I can feel her stare but I'm not moving. I'm not even blinking. I'm not breaking eye contact.

"Hey, baby, is everything alright? You've been in here for ag-" The voice that broke our silence is now stopping in its track. Someone is entering the room. A slender blonde makes her way in and is now gently resting her hand on Emilys arm. She's disturbing our staring contest. She makes me blink. She's disturbing my focus. She looks straight at me. Then turn her gaze to Emily again.

"Ems, baby, are you alright?" She is now rubbing her arm. Using a nickname she's not allowed to verbalize. A name that's not allowed to slip through her mouth.

I have no idea who she is. But I already know I don't like her. She looks a lot like me when I think about it. The blonde hair, the figure of her body, her taste in clothing, everything. The same thought seems to enter her mind as she throws me a quick glance.

Emily is now breaking our gaze. She's coming to it.

"What?" She turns to the girl beside her. "No, uhm, I'm fine."

She looks at me again. The dark haired girl beneath is now trying to move. Lifting my arm away from her shoulder. She turns to me. Leaning in. Whispering something. Emily and the blonde are still standing there. They're watching her every move. I can't hear what she's saying. I'm not listening. I couldn't care less. She gives me a sly smile before heading out. I'm thinking I probably know what she said anyway. She passes the two girls standing in the doorway. Mumbling a forged apology before leaving. My eyes still haven't left chocolate brown.

"Can we help you?" The blonde says. Looking with piercing eyes in my direction. She's catching on. She knows something's up. Something's not right. I already hate her.

I realize my jeans are slightly unbuttoned. Looking down, I reach for it. I'm coming to it. She's putting the pieces together. One by one. She knows what Emily just walked in to. She knows what she saw. But she doesn't seem to know who I am. Or maybe she does but just doesn't care. Maybe she doesn't know the truth. Maybe she's denying it. I don't know. I've lost focus.

I'm not really giving her a reply. Mumbling something. I need to leave. I need to get out of here. I need my focus. I straighten my shirt and head toward the exist. I need to pass them. I can't face her. I can't look at her. My eyes are flickering. I'm trying to hold back a scream. I know she's looking at me. I know she knows what I'm feeling. She always knew.

I'm passing them. Sensing the familiar vanilla scent while heading out. I can't breathe. I can't focus. I'm only regretting. I'm regretting coming here. I'm regretting seeing her. I'm regretting not saying anything. I'm regretting not calling her and asking how she was doing. I'm regretting not asking Cook who's fucking her nowadays. But I know now. And I can't stand it.

Cook sees me walking out. I'm holding the tears back. I can't for much longer. He knows something's wrong. He's coming after me. Calling my name. His voice is blending together with the beat of the music that is surrounding us.

I'm heading for the exit. I don't know where she is. I don't know if she even has left the bathroom. For all I know she might be doing exactly what I was ten minutes ago. I can't think about it. I need focus. Focus.

I feel a hand pulling on my shoulder. I'm already outside.

It's Cook. Pulling me in. I can't hold it inside any longer. I'm crying. I'm shaking. I'm breaking down right in his arms. And he knows why.

We've always had a mutual agreement. We never talked about it though. It was just something we both knew. I never mentioned her and neither did he. Well, not intentionally. Right now I keep wishing he would have. I keep wishing he would have told me about the blonde calling her "baby". Keep wishing I would have known.

"Hey, it's alright.." he says. Trying to soothe me. Trying to help me regain my focus. He knows I need it. I need it like my life is depending on it.

I keep crying. I keep shaking.

"You didn't know, Naokins. I should have told you, yeah. But I didn't know if you could handle it. I didn't think you would, you know? And I was right." He knew what I was thinking. He knew what I was feeling. "I didn't know they were coming here tonight. I swear. I didn't even see them walk in."

He keeps talking. I'm not listening. I just keep seeing her face. Her mellow brown eyes watching me in shock. In disgust. Just as I once looked at her. And I know now who she's with and who she thinks of when going to bed. I know whose neck she cuddles up into before falling asleep and I know she smells the same. I know now who makes her heart beat faster and who makes her moan in pleasure. I just wonder if the freckles that once lived on her velvety skin are still being touched. Counted. Kissed.

And I still wonder if she thinks of me when somebody notice them.

So there are these moments. These moments in life we can never turn our backs on. Our moments of regret. Seconds, hours, days in life we keep wishing we could turn back time for and redo. Make up for everything that went away.

It can be anything. It can be never forgiving your ex for once cheating on you. Never forgiving someone for turning their back on you. Stabbing a knife in your already broken back. I could spend a lifetime trying to make up for mine. Trying to pick up the pieces of a puzzle I've never been able to solve. A never ending task that would take an eternity to get done. That's why I chose instead to forgive other peoples slip-ups. So they might one day be able to forgive me for mine. That's why I've stopped counting them. Because they keep coming, no matter what.

And this was just one of them.


	8. You Spin Around Me Like A Dream

**A/N: **As always, a huge thank you for everyone reading and reviewing. And for the new readers; Welcome! Yes.. I know, I know. Every update is a huge tease. I'm sorry, but I hope you like it anyways. Things will clear up soon. Hang in there!

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**Chapter 8.** You Spin Around Me Like A Dream

I have been told that dreams arise from our subconscious mind. That the portrait we so fervently rest our eyes upon during our sleep reflects a portion of what we do not know. What we can't grasp a hold of or understand. A subconscious mind that calls out for us with cold hands. With warm hands. With familiar words and recognizable faces. It's a threshold of a secret space we desperately want to be a part of.

With the help of our dreams, we can explain everything that we, while awake, have never been able to identify with. To understand. Or, it could be on the contrary. It could be that the moments we spend swiftly traveling through familiar fragments and patterns represents us. Who we are. It could be that they might be everything we actually do know. They might even be the only things we know. The truth. I don't really know anymore. I've been having trouble separating what's real and not lately.

_We're back at the viewing point again. The sun is beginning to settle again. She still smells like gasoline. And I still don't have a clue where we are. Where I am. And why we are here. This time nothing is holding us back. Nothing is stopping us. Nothing is ruining our moment. Not a single sound. You could hear a pin drop. You could hear everything you'd ever want to hear. Or don't want to hear. You can hear everything. But all I hear is silence. _

_I'm thinking that I should be hearing the warm summer breeze sluggishly caressing my ear. I'm thinking that I should be hearing her chest rise and fall with the rhythm or her pounding heart. Or my pounding heart. I can feel them. A pulsation beating against my back. Another one hammering inside my chest. But I'm not hearing it. I'm thinking. Thinking about every possible sound I should be able to hear. But all I feel is calmness. And all I hear is this. This vibrant sound of stillness._

_Her arms are still covering my stomach. Her skin still shielding mine. Her hands still reassuring me. Her breath still helping me respire. Her warmth still melting my barriers. My scent still softening her edges. My shoulders still holding the weight she's been carrying. The world she eventually couldn't hold in place. I'm hers to lean on to. She's mine to lean back on._

_Slowly. Carefully. We're opening up. Like the caterpillar growing into a cocoon. Waiting for wings to grow. We're examining each other. We're peeling of broken flesh. Shedding shattered blankets. Revealing summer skin. Exposing hidden freckles. Forgotten spots. Stains we so eagerly spent years covering up. Protecting. Hiding. But not now. Not tonight. Not this night. _

_Tonight we're letting our guards down. We're throwing in towels. Folding thousands of cards. Because we need it. We're craving it. Because we would submerge without this act. So we have to. We must. _

_We're letting silence tell the conversation intended for our unspoken words. Letting sapphire blue and golden brown show it's true colours. _

_We're undressing before the setting sun. Shredding our defences. The growing force we've kept in place screaming for release. And we're letting go. We're unwrapping. Spilling truths. Displaying fears. All in silence. In calmness. Motionless. _

"_I didn't know she'd be there."_

_I feel her talking. On mute. Forming words and pulling our rosy coats closer. Our newly lit room. Our open window. It's seems like I'm answering. But I'm not hearing. Just talking. Feeling._

"_You really think I would have come if I knew?"_

_Still voiceless. _

"_Yeah, in a bathroom with her fingers inside someone was exactly how I wanted to meet her again."_

_Still unwrapping._

"_No, it's not that. I don't care. I just. I was surprised, that's all. Is she moving back?"_

_Still folding._

"_No, Nathalie doesn't know and I don't want her to either. Like I said, it doesn't matter. She's asleep, right?"_

_But she's picking up the towels._

"_No, I was just wondering if you were alright. I didn't see either of you after that. Whatever. Doesn't mind. I should go. Nat's waiting."_

_Getting ready for the punches. Going all in._

"_We'll talk later. And Cook, please.. don't tell her I was here."_

_Muffled voices are breaking through the auburn sky. Creating cracks. Pulling apart. Putting on the locks and coating our skins with familiar barriers. New obstacles. Pins dropping everywhere and throbbing hearts screaming in our faces._

But I'm coming to life. Feeling my eyelids slowly begin to rise. The outlines of an unfamiliar room are greeting my awoken eyes. It's spinning. Or maybe I'm spinning. But I'm coming to life. Silently.

A squeak. A door opening. A tall figure stepping inside the room. A familiar figure. Casting a lengthy shadow on the wooden floor. Cook. And I realize where I am. I realize why I'm here. And I still got my mouth guard on. I'm placing bets. I'm raising my swords.

"Where were you? When did we get here?" I manage to get out with an unrecognisable voice. Barely there. Barely alive. Barely inside.

"I was just picking up my bag from the car. Uh, I left it there earlier. You kinda' started throwing up and then passed out on me after the incident so I brought you here about two hours ago.. I hope it's all right. I just didn't want to lea-" I interrupted him.

"It's ok. I get it." I answered. This time with more familiar words. A more familiar sound. And a very familiar realization when I suddenly felt a pounding headache building inside. "I'll stay here tonight, if that's alright. I don't really think I can move that much.. or at all right now."

He chuckled. I squinted. Leaned back down.

"Right now? I doubt you even getting up tomorrow. You fucking drained the bar tonight, lezza. I'll get you a coffee IV tomorrow, sounds good?"

I know he's trying. But I'm blocking it out. I'm closing in. All I hear is stillness. And all I feel skin being shed. Walls being put down. And a thousand royal straight flush's going down the toilet.

I have these dreams. These haunting dreams that keep reoccurring. Night after night I've been finding myself in this delusional state of mind. An illusion of a life I once have lived places itself inside me. In front of me. Displaying a view I've can't recall ever seeing but yet, so familiar. A portrait I so easily can rest my eyes upon during sleep.

My subconscious mind reaching out with warm hands. A threshold grasping a hold of me. And I'm not fighting it. I'm not turning it down. I'm not struggling to get back up. Because I need it. I'm craving it. I'm feeling it. I'm feeling me. Unwrapping.


	9. Like A Crack In The Wall

**Chapter 9.** Like A Crack In A Wall

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Names. We all have names. Nicknames, first names, last names. Different amounts of letters forming a shell. A door. A face for us to hide behind. You can change it. You can lie about it. You can, with the help of a name, turn into anyone you want. With a different name you could be a different person. Another human being. A new life that nobody knows of. A new persona people never met before.

But names don't always come with faces. Or personalities. Names can come with a broken heart. Or a lost dog. A broken teddy bear or through old legends we love to retell. We use names for identification. For remembering. For reminding.

We live through our names. Syllables forming themselves in our mouths, revealing our titles. Our covers. And just like books, we tend to judge each other by it.

"So.. I'm sorry about yesterday."

I feel this need to apologize. To explain. But I don't want to. I don't want to remember. And by telling him I'm sorry I only confirm what happened. I make it into a reality. A truth. A fact I don't want to grasp. But I have to. And he deserves it.

"Listen, Naomi, you don't have to apologize for anything. It's ok. I get it. I would be hurting too, believe it or not."

I frown. I'm not hurting. He's not allowed to talk about what I feel. I'm not hurting. I'm not even remembering.

"What? What are you talking about? I'm not hurting. Why would I be hurting?"

"Come on. Don't play that card on me. I've known you long enough. I've known you both long enough to know what these past three years have been like for the two of you."

He looks serious. He's almost the one that looks hurt now.

"What do you mean, for us two? What have she told you?"

I'm thinking maybe she's been hurting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she's sorry. Maybe I am too. But I'm grasping the covers harder. Afraid that he might see. That he might notice. The cracks. The spots.

"Nothing. Forget it. Whatever. But just don't. Don't be like that. Not to me. You cried in my arms for almost an hour last night. It might have been the alcohol doing some talking but like I said, I know you Naoms. And I understand."

He pauses. Like he's waiting for it to sink in. Maybe waiting for himself to understand. He's not only talking about me anymore. He's not only talking to me anymore.

"For fuck's sake, you hadn't seen her never the less talked to her for three years and then you meet up in the bathroom at a bar of all places with you fucking someone and her just staring at you. And on top of that, her girlfriend walks in too."

Knuckles turning white. I've never clenched harder. I've never built a shield this fast. A barrier this high. The cement hasn't even dried and he's already there. Standing with a sledge hammer pounding against it. I won't unwrap. I won't let him notice. I won't let him care.

"That was her girlfriend?"

Hello, Berlin Wall.

"Uh.. yeah? Her name is Nathalie. I don't know if I should be telling you this."

He shouldn't. But he's already started. And he's brought an army with him this time.

"How long have they been together? Is she happy with her?"

I'm cracking. Breaking. I'm wondering. And I'm not allowed to. I'm making friends with the enemy. Buying it a cup of coffee. Bribing the truth.

"I don't know. I guess she is. They've been going out for about.. I don't know, maybe ten months or something. But she's good, Naomi. She's been treating her really well."

The glue seems to be dripping. The cement never going dry. It's getting harder. To focus. To keep shuffling the cards. Taking the blows. I have to duck. Deal the deck. Blow out a fucking hurricane to keep this fence standing.

"Cook, seriously, I know that I have a tendency to be very confident when it comes to my looks. I know, I know.. who can blame me, really? But don't tell me you haven't noticed? I might have been smashed yesterday but I was straight enough to see that that girl looked like a bad copy of me."

I'm getting a little breeze.

"Hah, well ok, the thought have crossed my mind. You might be gorgeous, babe, but she's not too bad either."

Seeing the white flag flicker at a distance.

"Whatever. Shut up. I don't have time for this. I have to get home to Botox mom. We're meeting up with the lawyers today." But he needs more. He wants to understand. He needs to understand. "But.. I'll talk to you later about this. About everything. Just.. not now."

Everything's the same. We've never gotten along. I started building these walls around me before I even got a name. And she was never one to break them down. No. She was the chief officer handing me the bricks. Buying me the bullets and teaching me how to strike the enemy. Maybe it was because that's what she's been doing all her life. Maybe that's where you see the resemblance between us.

I eventually replaced the bullets with drugs. Using the highs and lows to shield me from anyone getting closer. Anyone opening the door. As we all know, I failed. Once. And I think she did too. But I don't know. I've never known for sure. She's just a name for me. A title. And so am I.

We're saying our hellos. Sharing our false smiles. Acknowledging bricks hitting bricks. Wall tasting wall. Just to make sure it's still all there. I'm doing it to search for cracks. For openings. For something other then this. She's doing it just to make sure she did a good job. A great job. To make sure it's tall enough. Strong enough.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to taste this air. I don't want to feel this familiar breeze making its way around me. Holding me down. Closing me in. Capturing me.

I'm looking at her. I still haven't left the doorway. But she's stepping out of the way. Letting me inside. Telling me that the lawyer is already here. That everything is ready. They're just waiting for me. To sign the papers. To be present. I couldn't care less.

I'm heading towards the dining room. Following her lead. Trying to focus. Intently watching her every move. Not wanting to break my gaze. To notice that everything around looks the same. The same as I left it. The same as it did when we raced up the stairs, heading for my room. The same as it did when we used to make out on the couch or fight in the kitchen. The same as always. The same as it did when she left it. Left me.

She comes to a stop. So do I.

"Naomi, this is Ms. White."

I'm looking up. Adjusting my stare. Taking it in. Suddenly wishing for blindfolds. For darkness. For anything else but this sight. This name. But we all go by them. We react when someone calls them. Names. Titles. Letters. There are these names that don't need faces. Personalities. Or explanations. Just hatred. Or love.

Without knowing a person, sometimes without even seeing it, people have this capability to strongly either loathe or adore a name because of something they've heard about it. Seen about it. Something they know about it. The heart starts racing. The mind beings to freely remember forgotten these bottled up memories. Good ones. Bad ones. It all depends on the association. We all have those. A former lover maybe. A tormenter from school. A lost relative. A memorable city. Names.

"Please, call me Nathalie."


	10. This Can't Be Happening

**A/N: **Hello again, lovelies. This time I've got a longer update than usual. Hopefully this brings a little clarity to what went wrong in the relationship between Emily and Naomi in the first place. Remember, read n' review! Frickin' love the reviews. I know, I'm gonna get better at that too. So **Circle142**, **HyperFitched**, **AssassinsLover** and **Cookie Monster 1992 - **if you're reading this; there's a review coming up soon for ya. I'm pretty new here so I haven't discovered all the awesome stories out there yet, but I'm getting there! You're ALL awesome! R&R n' enjoy!

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**Chapter 10.** This Can't Be Happening

I have memories. Vivid memories. Bright memories that is registered in the back of my mind. That still lives inside it. That breathes every breath I take. But today I'm talking about a certain memory. It's a particular matter. It's a subject. A feeling.

It's hate.

I was eight years old. There was this boy. This boy at school. Josh. We were playing as usual in the school yard during lunch break and I had put on my favourite Ramones t-shirt that my grandmother once had given me. She was a total rocker. Fully autographed. Fully everything. And I loved it. I thought I was the coolest kid on the block walking around with it. I probably was.

I remember it so clearly. It was a sunny Wednesday and Judy, my neighbour, who also happened to be my best friend at the time, was home from school. She had the flu. Puking her guts out once every hour. I remember it because I was terrified to visit her that week. I was petrified that I would catch it if I came near her and since throwing up never have been my cup of tea I choose to stay away as far as I could.

Anyway.

We were playing tag, Josh and I, and he was after me this time. He was chasing me like a lion going after an innocent little antelope on the savannah and I ran like I've never run before. And I was fast. Believe me. I was fast. You know, back in the days where cigarettes wasn't even a word in my vocabulary and the fact that you could even be short of breath was an unknown phenomenon for me.

After what felt like hours of running my legs started to give in. I became a bit tired. A bit slower. And for every single second that I gradually started to slow down he came closer. And closer. And closer. When he finally reached his prey, otherwise known as me, he jumped right at me, causing us both to fall down hard against the concrete, ripping my shirt in two during the fall.

He ended up with a broken nose and his lunch bag scattered out all over his face. I never talked to him again after that incident. I didn't even look at him. And he didn't look at me. He was terrified. I hated him. I truly hated him. I still do.

But the point is.. the matter of this is that hate and fury can result in a series of actions you'd never see coming. And I have experienced a lot of those. A lot.

_Friday night. Birthday night. Party night. Cook and I decided it would be a good idea to throw a gigantic birthday party at my mansion to celebrate my 18:th birthday. So we did. And here we are. Or. Let me rephrase that. Here I am. Cook has passed out on the couch after our tequila race and there's a Jane Doe lying on the floor beside him. I'm pretty drunk. I'm pretty tired. It's actually almost 3 AM now and people are starting to leave. _

_I need to find Emily. I need to show her my hat. This ridiculous cardboard hat made out of empty beer boxes that I won after playing beer bong with some guys in the kitchen earlier. I'm heading upstairs. I'm thinking she's probably there. She's probably waiting. She's probably going to surprise me with a gift. I'm going to surprise her with this hat. If she's nice enough, I might even give it to her. She might like it. I like it. I like her. _

_I'm reaching the door. Turning the doorknob. Opening it. Humming vaguely on a song I picked up on the way here. _

"_Ems, you in here? You have to see my ha-"I'm standing in the doorway now. Looking straight ahead. Towards my bed. In my own room. Watching. Walking in on something I wasn't supposed to see. Or maybe I was. But I'm taking it in. I'm taking it with me. Etching an unforgettable picture of what that stand before me into my memory. _

"_What the fuck?!" That's all I can say. That's all I manage to spit out. To throw at her. Wishing I had a burning fireball to toss instead. Wishing I had something else. Something else than this. _

"_Naomi". It's a statement. Not a question. From a flushed face. A flushed Emily. It's fear. Not surprise. _

"_W-what are you doing?" I'm becoming speechless. I'm losing my words. No matter how hard I try to grasp them, they keep slipping away. Following the stream that seems to leave me. Draining me. Everything around me is spinning. Pointing at me. Laughing at me._

_Everything is happening so fast. World War II could take place in this room right now and I wouldn't even notice. I wouldn't see it. I wouldn't catch it. _

_She's getting dressed. Pulling up her pants. Straightening her shirt. Clearing her throat. Looking away from me. Wobbling a little. She's drunk. You can see it on her body language. The way she barely can stand. The way she holds her shoulders up. The lack of control. The lack of everything that is Emily. _

_The guy underneath her has no idea why I'm mad. Why I'm standing there. Why I'm interrupting. Why I'm raising my voice and why the redheaded little bitch he was screwing looks terrified. But he feels the tension surrounding this room. This place. These people.. He feels how the air around him has changed from a hot Bristol summer to a cold Swedish winter. To a freezing version of Dante's inferno. _

_He excuses himself in seconds. Making his way out. Passing me. Leaving a trail of cheap aftershave and vanilla. Her vanilla. I want to kill him. I want to follow him and break his neck. Strangle him for touching her. Slaughter him for wearing her fragrance. Her scent. For mixing it with cheap cologne. With dirty minds. With himself._

_She's not looking at me. Staring down. At her feet. Hoping to find some sort of comfort in her toes. In the carpet. In everything else but my eyes. But me._

"_You fucking disgust me." I slur out. Loudly. Slowly. For the sake of it. For the feeling of it. Using my tone to intensify my hatred. My rage. My disappointment. I even think I'm laughing a bit. Chuckling. Shaking my head._

"_I disgust you? I disgust YOU?" She's looking at me this time. Letting her eyes show the feeling she's been to afraid to disclose. To afraid to show. To tell. To talk about. She's obviously drunk. Probably drunker than me. "You don't think I know? You don't think I've noticed?" She starts. And I know where this is going. But I'm ignoring it. I'm pushing it away. But it doesn't matter. Not this time. Nothing she says can justify her actions. Her behaviour. Her choice._

"_What the fuck are you talking about, Emily? Noticed what? Huh? What?!" I feel this need corner her. To push her into the wall. To throw her into the spotlight. To make her smaller than me. To make her scared. By using my voice. My tone. My eyes. My hate. _

"_How you look at her. How you long for her. How you keep wishing every time you're fucking me that it was her lying underneath you. Panting against you. Squirming under you. Moaning in your ear. You don't think I see it? It's written all across your face. All across YOU. And you don't even have the dignity to let me go first." _

_She's raising her voice. Blaming me. Accusing me. It's not the first time. It's not the only time. She's turning this thing around. Trying to focus the light on me. Trying to break free from the unexisting glares. _

"_Don't even try to turn this thing against me, Emily. Just shut the fuck up. You know that's all bullshit. I've told you before and I'm telling you for the last time. I have never, ever, in my whole life loved anyone the way I've loved you. I've never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you. Until this. Until now." I pause. Shifting slighly. Continuing._

_"Danielle is nothing. She's never even been a THING. Never. It's not my fault that you're jealous, Emily. I haven't done anything. You're the one who done this. You're the one who created this mess between us. This gap. Because of your insecurities. I've done everything in my way to stop you from feeling like this. Everything. But what do you do? You go off screwing some pathetic dude as soon as I turn my back away from you for a split second. For what, Ems? For what?! Don't come here and talk to me about dignity." I'm burning. I'm lashing out. _

"_You've done everything you could? Is this what you call everything you could? If you did everything you could you wouldn't have found me like this." Her scornful voice fills the emptiness. Fills the hatred. Ignites a fire I don't know how to put out. I don't know how to stop. _

"_Fuck you, Emily. Fuck you." _

_I can see her tensing up now. I can see her closing in. I can see her giving up. Giving in. Letting go. It's not about this anymore. It's not about a random guy. It's not about my birthday. It's not about Danielle having feelings for me. It's not about me not giving her everything. It's about her. It's about us. _

_It's about all the things that refuse to work in favour for us. About all the things she fears. All the things I fear. And we both know it. But I can't put this fire out. I can't make out the ashes. I can't stop the world from spinning the wrong way. I can't turn things back. I can't kiss it better. Neither can she. Not this time. And we're burning up. Fading away. And I'm stirring up the flames._

"_You're sick. Get the fuck out of here. I never want to see you again. You ungrateful fucking whore. Get the fuck out of my house!"_

She's holding my hand. Nathalie. And I'm trying with all the power invested in me to shake hers. I should be saying something. I should be doing something. But I'm still watching in disbelief. I know who she is and I know where I've seen her before. But most of all, I know who she belongs to. And by the tiniest little frown of recognition that settles between her eyebrows she seems to remember yesterday a little too well. She seems to remember me.

So I'm letting go of her hands. My palms were getting sweatier by the second. I clear my throat in desperate need to hear anything else but this quiet tension that has now been built up between us. But she's not looking at me with angry eyes. With loathing eyes. Just with recognition. She remembers the bathroom. She remembers what she walked into. But that's were it stops. She doesn't know about the fires. About spinning worlds and rainy goodbyes. I'm thinking she's better of without it.

My mother interrupts our pleasantries. It's the first time I'm actually grateful for her existence.

"I have a three o'clock meeting waiting in an hour so if we could just get this thing going…"

Well, of course. Her money. Or should I say my money.

Nathalie starts to talk. Her voice is soft. Emily probably likes it. She probably loves how smooth it is against her ears. Like a velvety silk sheet evening every sharp edge around her. But I don't like it. I don't like her.

"Of course, Ms. Campbell. If we could all just take a seat.."

My mother is already sitting down. I can feel Nathalie looking at me. Waiting for me. They both are. I ignore the glares and finally push myself down in one of the chairs.

"So after looking closely at the will Mrs. Campbell left before her accident it clearly states that her grand daughter, Naomi, here" she's pointing towards me. I don't want her fingers anywhere near me. Against me. Aiming me. "inherits what's left of her fortune. Including properties and other belongings of value."

Great news. Predictable, but still good news. I knew she wouldn't let that sorry excuse for a mother get a penny of her fortune. She lived enough off of her as it is. Sure, it's her daughter. But they never got along. My grandmother was always there for me when my mom wasn't. Which was practically all the time.

Suddenly I feel the urge to stand up, point directly at her with my tongue sticking out, like a five-year-old who just knocked a stupid little boys sand castle down because it was a little bit too close mine. But I settle with a grin. A mocking grin. Adding a little mocking chuckle for the sake of it. Just to push her buttons a little bit further. And she's boiling.

"That can't be right, Ms. White. I know for a fact that she left me a savings account containing one million dollars and addition to that, 18 years worth of child support for raising this beast beside me."

"Hey, gold digger, are you sure that the shit you shoot up your face isn't responsible to your lack of brain cells? Because the last time I checked, raising a child didn't mean leaving it at the age of TEN at home ALONE for several weeks at a time when you were out screwing some piece of shit sugar daddy, hoping he'd pay for your Botox injections."

"You little ungrateful fu-"

"Please. Ladies. If you could just calm down for a minute." Nathalie interrupted. Once again with a smooth voice. A calming voice. "Unfortunately, Ms. Campbell, there's neither a savings account or any child support funds registered in your name. The value however of the belongings that has been written in the will, except for the one million dollars that was given to you" she's pointing towards me again. Killing time. "directly after her death, reaches a total sum of two hundred million dollars. All in the name of Miss Naomi Campbell here."

Botox beast is steaming beside me. Rage filling her every vein. And I'm loving every second of it.

"Don't shoot the messenger, mum. It's not her fault you're getting what you deserve."

After having a closer look at the will I signed the papers that were left. My mother left as soon as everything was wrapped up. Cursing silently to herself. Leaving me alone with her. Nathalie. I'm getting nervous. Anxious. And I don't know why. I do know that it shows, though.

"Um, I'm sorry that you had to see all that. I apologize on her behalf. She's totally messed up. Or, we both are as you could see." I have this nervous chuckle. This annoying one that I hate. Emily always used to make fun of me for it.

She looks up at me. Smiling slightly. Here I am. Making friends with the enemy. Wiping out the battle lines.

"Don't worry. I've seen worse. Believe me." I give her a little smile. I believe her. It's her day job. I have no idea what she faces every day. Except Emily. Lucky bastard.

"So.. I don't know if you remember but we me-" I start. And I know she remembers. But I get interrupted as her phone goes off. Silencing me. She throws a quick glance at the caller ID, mouthing an excuse, and answers it.

"Hey.. No, I'm still here. Just finishing off the last papers." I avert my gaze. Focusing on something else. Anything else.

"Can you still pick me up? No, not there. I'm at the Campbell mansion. A huge one on Lincoln Ro-" She probably got interrupted. "Yeah, exactly." She sounds surprised. And I suddenly know why. I know who she's talking to. And the person she's talking to knows every street in this neighbourhood. Especially this street. My street. And my house.

"What? You told me this morning you'd pick me up. I didn't bring my car. What are talking about? What meeting? You don't have a meeting today." She's trying to silence her voice a bit. Trying to turn around without being rude. Without being disrespectful.

"Why can't you just come and get me? You're just 10 minutes away. Knock it off, Ems."

Ems. I hate how her name rolls so easily off her tongue. How she gets to argue with her. To yell at her. To love her. To express it. To show it.

"What? Whatever. Bye". Someone's not getting a ride home today.

"Sorry about that. My ride kind of cancelled on me. So what were about to say?" She asks. She looks tired. Distressed. Regretting for getting so upset.

"No worries. Oh, nothing. I can't even remember what it was." I lie. I'm not in the mood for mentioning it. Talking about it. Coming clean. Showing the cracks. So I keep playing this role. This person. This mediator. This bipolar version of me.

"Ok, well, I'm heading downtown. I could give you a ride if you want?"

What the fuck? What am I doing? Making friends with the enemy doesn't mean "become best friends with the love of your life's new girlfriend". Stupid ass. I am so going to pay for this. I better draw the battle lines back. And I better do it fast.

"Um.. are you sure? That would be great.. I mean. If it's ok." She says.

I'm giving her a reassuring smile. Telling her it's all good. It's all fine. It's ok.

"Of course. Let's go."

So. About hate. I've always experienced hate as one of those feelings I could control the least. A feeling I've never been able to grasp. To rule. To restrain. A feeling whose path I've always become stunned by. That has always surprised me. And as I mentioned earlier, hate and fury can result in a series of actions you'd never see coming. One thing worth remembering is the fact that you never know which way the world is going to turn. Which directions the actions prefer to take. And this was just one of them all. One I've never experienced before, though. But it's just a car ride. Right?

Sure.

But I'm thinking it'll be a hell of a ride this time. In a thousand more ways than one.


	11. History Involved Itself

**A/N:** I'm planning to thank everyone individually asap and reply to your awesome reviews. But until then, thank you! Appreciate it! R&R!

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**C****hapter 11.** History Involved Itself

A common dictionary definition of truth is "agreement with fact or reality". But I believe that the truth is discussable. The truth can be sugar-coated. Custom-made to suit the person telling it. Or to the person having it told to. To wear the truth is to be the truth. To wear the lie is be the lie. And there is a thin line, almost unseen by the naked eye, between the two. Between what's real and what's not. What's true and what's not.

They all say that at the end of the day you still have to live with what's true. That every time you go to bed at night you will be haunted by what's real. What you cannot hide no matter how many times you try to bend the facts. To shape it into something it's not. Something it'll never be.

You still have to live with it. You will still know.

But they keep forgetting something. They keep overlooking the most important part of it all. People persist in believing that this thin line that I mentioned, this almost non-existing gap between the two is a lot bigger then what it really is. They are so convinced that when it comes to it, they could easily separate the truth from the lies. The innocent from the guilty. The right from the wrong. But I know better than that.

I've seen the line. I've walked it. I still do most of the time.

Because if you keep telling yourself something that may not be accurate at the very first moment, if you keep believing in something hard enough it will eventually become the truth. Some kind of truth. It becomes the air you breathe. The suit you wear. The skin that covers your soul. It becomes real. For you.

It becomes life.

The car ride was mostly spent in silence. Nathalie tried to engage in some kind of small talk by mostly asking me about my school in London and I tried to keep my answers as short as possible, afraid that if she got the chance she would be heading towards the deep end of the pool. The bottomless ocean. The undiscovered truth. The dark holes she's not allowed to see. To enter. To explore.

I kept it closed. Locked up and safe within myself. Within the past.

Where it belongs. Where it lives. Breathes.

For now.

I'm dropping her off at what seems to be an expensive apartment complex. She kindly thanks me for the ride and gives me a small wave before walking through the entrance.

I take off and head for the beach. I'm meeting up with Cook. I'm going to keep my promise. I know that he has been wondering. I know that he has been waiting for me to talk about it. To drain myself from what I've kept hidden. To finally crack. Like a drunken bottle falling to the floor, flooding over, flooding fast. He has been waiting for years. I know that he wants answers. He wants the truth. What's real. Because I've been spending what feels like a lifetime covering up my tracks and leaving him with the dust that followed.

I can see him sitting on a blanket, slightly in front of the shed where me and Emily shared our first kiss. Somehow I already knew he would choose this spot. And I know why he did it. He wants this to be serious. He wants me to finally be honest about things. Truthful. So he chose the only spot he knew that could make me come clean. The only place where I have experienced the genuine. The heartfelt without expectations. The honesty without the ulterior motives. The place where I experienced her. And I still keep the butterflies bottled up. I still remember.

"Hey.." I say softly as I approach the well-known figure resting on the blanket that is stretched out on the sand with a spliff in his mouth.

He turns his head slightly. Answering silently with a loose smile on his lips, letting me know it's alright. It's safe.

I take a seat beside him, allowing me legs to stretch out. My bare feet touching the unruffled sand. Toes slowly tracing patterns that is impossible to decipher. To understand. To read. Just like this moment. Yet at the same time, it's so clear. It's so obvious. The reasons. The fears. We don't really need the words. The voices. But moments like this are rare and short-lived. And I know he needs to remember this. I know he needs the black on white. So I'm letting go. Loosening the chains. Opening the Pandora box and showing its true colors.

"I never stopped thinking about her."

Pause.

All I can hear is the ocean. The water. Waves carefully dissolving into the sand, effortlessly pulling it back, pulling it in. He is not saying anything. He knows I need this moment. He knows I need the silence before I continue. Toes still tracing patterns. Looking for answers underneath.

"You know, I never in million years imagined my life to be like this. Me to be like this."

Another pause.

"I was never supposed to let the guards down to begin with. I know what you're thinking. I know what you've been thinking all along. You can't change what has happened. You can't turn back time. I know. 'Cause I've tried. God knows, I tried."

A sigh. Another one. All of them coming from me. He's looking at the water. At the sun setting. At anything else but me.

"Seeing her again.." The third sigh. "it was hard. It was so hard. I couldn't figure her out. At all. And you of all people know how I used to be able to read her like a book. I knew her by heart. Her every look. Her every glance. Her every word. And yet, there I was, in front of her, knowing nothing. Empty. Blank. Nothing. Like I never knew her at all."

"I don't know. I'm even starting to doubt it myself."

This makes him turn his gaze towards me. Rest his eyes on mine.

This makes him speak.

"Don't."

I know what he means but I need to hear it. I need hear him say it to me. I need the confirmation. I need him as proof. I need his words as verification. An alibi that can agree with me in front of the jury. In front of my jury.

"Don't what?" So I ask.

"Don't go there. Don't even try that with me. Or yourself." He turns away again. But continues.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Naoms. She seems happy these days. She seems to be at ease. I'm glad. I'm happy to see her like that. 'Cause when you left.."

Now it's his turn to sigh. To pause. To take it all in. To let it all out.

"she was a mess. A total mess. Getting smashed every night on god knows what. It could have been anything. She was hurting herself. Badly. I'm not blaming you, you know that. It was never your fault. But it wasn't hers either. You know why she cheated. It wasn't even about that in the end. You forgave her before it even happened. You always forgave her. And so did she. But eventually, both of you ran out of excuses. Of apologizes. Because in the end, there was way too much to say I'm sorry for."

Again, silence.

But through the breeze that settles between us I'm letting him know that I understand. That I've known it all along. And I never blamed myself for forgiving her. I never regretted it. She scarred me for life. She hurt me. But the truth. The truth holds so much more than that. Than the heartache. The lies. The cheating. The arguments. The young and dumb speech.

Love is irrational. Love is not logical by any means. And that's exactly what this is. That's exactly what this is about. Why I'm sitting here, shedding off the layers of lies. Piece by piece. Suit by suit. Skin by skin. Showing the layers of truth. That's why I'm sitting at this particulate spot, wanting to be reminded of the one thing that kept me safe. That kept me alive. And wanting to be reminded why it did.

"But love is knowing your mistakes and still wanting to make up for it. And she did, every time. Without saying a word. Without giving a glance. There was no need for it. Because you knew her, by heart. You could read you like an open book. And I think that you're the only one who ever could."

Pause.

Five words are ending the sentence. But this time the voice wasn't coming from him. This one was a heart tugging one. A soft and so, so quiet one coming from behind me. Behind us. An all too familiar one, burning a hole in my dying heart and setting my undying love that lies within it on fire.

"I think you still are."


	12. Trapped Deep In Me

**A/N:** Unfortunately this fic is soon coming to an end. As I said before, it's only 14 chapters. But I'll promise to be back with a new one! As many of you've noticed and remarked this fic is really angsty and heartbreaking. I am sorry about that and understand if it gets a bit tiring. I think it lacks a lot of things, but when I wrote this, it was all I could handle. So I hope you guys aren't too dissapointed. But hey, it's not over yet is it? R&R!

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**Chapter 12. **Trapped Deep In Me

There are a lot of things we usually take for granted. Things we never seem to cherish. To value. To treasure. I know that I don't.

Most of the time.

It can be the simplest thing like getting enough sleep at night. Or having a heated radiator during the cold winter nights. It can be our ability to walk. Or to see. To feel. To touch. To move. To think. To love. Things, behaviours and skills we take for granted. Things we never seem to appreciate.

I admit that rarely take the time to be grateful for those things. I'm rarely thankful for anything at all. And when you forget to value the most basic things in life – you also disregard the fact that they might disappear one day. Because everything can vanish. Everything is temporary. Life itself is ticking bomb waiting to be blown up. Waiting for release. That is why we have to make the most of it. Take our chances and grab them while we still can. That is why we should stop for a moment and thank someone. Anyone. Ourselves maybe. Just to take notice of the things that helps us along the way. The vital. The basics. The fluttering eyelids. Or the steady heartbeats.

Because if you do, you won't be all too surprised when they expire. When they stop.

Even if it's only during a single moment. A single second.

You won't be startled.

Because you have already shared your goodbyes.

And all that is left to do is to wait.

And if you're lucky, you'll also share the welcome backs.

But as for me - someone who's rarely grateful for much, it came down like a thunder lightning. Like an earthquake that has been waiting for ages to emerge. Blow up. Leaving me speechless. Wordless. Voiceless.

This time, in this exact moment I cursed myself for taking things for granted.

This time, in this exact moment when I needed it the most, I was speechless.

Absolutely mute.

Not even a breath seeping out.

Not a sound.

After hearing the angelical raspy voice that reached my ears I instantly turned around to find her standing there. Standing with her red hair sprawled out on her white t-shirt. Her teeth grazing the flesh of her lower lip. Her gaze following the sand that her feet are slowly shoving away, creating a small hole beneath them. Small it might be, but in this exact moment and in this exact second it looks as if it's large enough to swallow her whole. It's large enough for her to fall right through. And I'm thinking that if she keeps searching for the answers beneath the sand she might even do so.

There was not a single part inside of me that could, for the love of anything, speak. I should be more panicked than what I am. I should be in shock for not being able to speak. To talk. To let out a single word. But I'm not. I'm thinking that if I talk I might scare away the tiny part of her that is still here with me. If I talk she might leave. If I would have the ability to actually verbalize my thoughts she might run away. So I keep it closed. I keep myself silent. I keep myself inside.

I hear Cook clearing his throat. Letting us know that he is still with us. Letting us know that the silence will be broken. Pulling us back inside. Pulling us back into reality.

"I should go."

And that was it. That's all he said. Three words and he's off. Walking away. One sentence and he threw us back inside. Closing the door. Taking the key with him. Leaving the walls for us to tear down.

I don't know what she is doing here. I suddenly get this feeling that tells me I might be intruding on a moment I should not be inside. A moment I should not be included in. Maybe she comes here often. Maybe it's her first time here since our kiss. I don't know and I can't seem to follow the answers that her feet are trying to reveal.

I can't seem to grasp anything.

She speaks again. I don't know if it's soft. I don't know if it's harsh. I can't tell them apart. But she speaks and I'm afraid of the answer she is looking for. I'm afraid of the hole she is building.

"What are you doing here?"

She hasn't looked up yet. Still standing by the little crater that keeps getting bigger and bigger by the second. Quicksand swallowing us both.

I don't know what kind of answer she is waiting for but I know that I have to be honest. To her. And to myself. What felt like hours have passed since she turned up and I'm starting to get the familiar sensation of a voice building inside. A voice speaking. Coming to life.

"I.. I don't know. I was meeting Cook. I found him here."

It was the truth. Truth enough. Close enough.

"But what are you doing _here_?"

Still not looking up. Still digging. Searching. Falling.

I don't know if she is trying to tear down the bricks or stack them up higher.

A huge opening is now separating us. Reaching for us. Calling for us.

"I could ask you that myself."

Movement stopped. Toes are now standing still. Holes closing in. Hiding equations and hidden replies. Eyes darting back and forth. Searching for something. Anything. I can finally see them. The burning eyes. And I finally see it clearly. For a second or two I know everything. In a fleeting look I can make out the winter nights and summer mornings. In a passing glance I can spot the butterflies making their way up towards the sky. Witness the laugher and distinguish the nervous hands. Fumbling fingers. The firm but loving strokes. In the briefest moment I can feel the memories that we've kept aside. That we've kept safe. Away from the open wounds and bleeding scars. Away from the fears we know all too well.

"Are you here to stay?"

Falling back. Unlocking eyes. Toes stirring. Searching again.

"No.." I don't know if I should elaborate the sentence. I don't know what I should say. "..no. I'm not."

That's all I have. That's all I can muster for now.

"So I'm sorry that I interrupted your conversation before.. I should probably leave befor-"

"No! I mean.. no, no.. you don't have to leave. Well, that is unless you have somewhere else to be.."

Eyes flickering again.

"I don't know."

That's all she says. And I can't think of a single thing to reply with. To talk about. Still scared. Still petrified that she'll run away if I start asking. If I start wondering. If I slowly pull out the stitches and expose the open wounds.

But I have to. I need to. I want to.

"So.. am I?"

She frowns. Eyes have returned to the crater she tries to unwrap again.

"Are you what?"

"Still the one who can figure you out. Read you like an open book."

"I don't know. You tell me."

And she finally looks up. No toes standing in the way, digging at the hole between us. No flickering glances or thoughts of leaving. We're locking eyes and the scars are bursting at the seams. Telling our stories and revealing the kisses. The hitched breaths and shaking bodies. The love stained bed sheets and the locked door in your teenage room at your parent's house.

The muffled screams and the silent whispers. The never-ending promises we made in your grandmothers backyard that we swore we'd never break. The everlasting love. The youthful vows. Mapping out your freckles at sunrise and the circles you traced on my stomach every night. Wishing. Hoping. Loving. Fingers crossed.

I see everything. So clearly. Right in front of me. Right inside those eyes, telling the story of us. Of everything we kept telling ourselves to never look back at.

"You don't want to forget it."

She swallows. Hard.

"You never even tried, did you?"

She's not saying anything. Just letting her eyes do the talking. Letting the gentle touches speak for themselves. Letting the memories strike down the mountains that separates us.

I take a step closer. Passing the hole that is now covered up. Closed.

Inches between us. Breaths between us. Only air separating us.

We're close.

So close.

So close I can feel the same scent of vanilla I once cherished with my life making its way through me. Closing us in. Her eyes are fluttering. My hands are trembling. Hearts are racing. Inches. Inches between us.

I can almost taste her breath. Feel the fire. Taste the heat.

So close.

So very close.

With the sun setting on her face I can see her flickering eyes. Her bottom lip being grazed by pearly whites. Her flushed and pink cheeks. Just like before. When our names were written across the sky and the rainbow telling us never to forget. With all its color. With all its strength.

And we're still there. We're still in that moment. We're still the waves fighting for dominance. Struggling for the control we've buried deep below this surface. This beach and this sand. A lifetime ago.

And just like before she feels it this time too. She can hear the hammering hearts calling out from the ocean. Feel the nervous hands on her waist. The youthful promises and the closed doors. The muffled screams and silent whispers.

So close.

So awfully close.

Her eyes darting between lips and eyes. Lips and eyes.

Lips.

And.

Eyes.

I'm taking the last step. Closing us in. Hands tangling up in red curls and sprawled blonde hair. Breath meeting breath. Parting my lips to get closer. Feeling her tongue slowly make its way inside. Tasting the years we've lost.

Leaving me with a taste of what we remember.

Telling me to never forget.

She's breaking the kiss. Stepping away. Unlocking eyes again. Feet stirring along the sand. Creating bigger holes. Larger gaps. New openings to fall through.

"I'm… I.. I have to go. I'm sorry."

So there are a lot of things we usually take for granted. Things we never seem to cherish. To value. To treasure. I know that I don't. Most of the time.

But this one I'm taking with me.

This one I knew.

This is one thing I've always cherished.

That is why I wasn't surprised when it stopped. When it ended.

Because I've already shared those goodbyes.

Now I'm just waiting for the welcome backs.


	13. I'm On Fire

**Chapter 13. **I'm On Fire

There are some things in ordinary life that always makes me feel like she is with me, even in those moments when we're physically thousands of miles apart. Most of the time it's the silence. It's the sound of nothing that speaks between us and let's us know that we're alive somewhere deep down under. Buried alive somewhere.

It's recurring. Our silence has always been able to speak hundreds of languages and it never mattered in what way I was saying it, because it always speaks the truth.

That is probably why I'm sitting here right now. In silence. Alone. Leaning against the end of the hotel bed, gazing at the rising sun. It feels like I've been here for hours. And you're right beside me. As a silence. A calmness.

I could say that all of this has been truly overwhelming. That everything has been a mind blowing experience but the truth is, the truth is, I expected all of this. All of it. I expected everything. Everything and nothing. Because there are some things I never have and never will deny. You are one of those things. And you might not come back, and if not then I'll know that we've had decent and courteous closure. Some things you don't have to talk about. Sometimes eyes tell you enough. Sometimes it's cracks and openings that tells it all. But most of the time it's the silence.

And you're silence at the beach was everything. And nothing.

It wasn't like anything else.

It wasn't like that night you left me.

It wasn't like that time when we laid sprawled out on the grass, squinting our eyes against the sun, baring our souls and our undying love.

It was a silence of its own.

A silence I cannot, for the love of my life, explain.

And that is why I don't know what to expect.

But I could just leave it here. I could just let it be.

Because it was a silence that could suit me. Satisfy me. A silence I know would let me be. Let me breathe.

There is a cat breaking the silence with a meow somewhere. I don't quite know where. And I don't know why either. For a split second it shatters the silence and I suddenly wonder why it did so. Why didn't it feel the calmness in the air?

Maybe it was a warning. Maybe it was in danger. Maybe it was just happy.

It's hard to know sometimes.

But it has got nine lives, that is what I've heard and I can't even count all of the times I've wished for the same destiny.

I let it be. Every silence is a life itself and every sound eliminates yet another one.

I'm thinking it has eight left to go.

I'm wondering how many I have.

I'm not tired and I have a feeling neither are you.

I don't know where you are but I have a feeling neither do you.

We're not that different, really.

We've never been.

We live in silence. We breathe in silence.

And I'm just waiting for something to break it.

The sun is almost up now and is leaving a shimmer of light that stretches out on the carpet like a heated sheet draping me, swallowing me. People are coming to life. Some hasn't even woken up. Some never went to bed in the first place.

I always have worshiped them.

The people that lives for the sake of living.

The people that breathe for the sake of knowing how to.

The people that stay up to watch the sun rise because it's so much more striking while giving a new dawning than drowning the days spent sorrow.

Just like you.

And just like you the silence breaks again, in the same way you always used to break it.

I never complained.

We always thought we had enough lives to spare.

I never complained.

But now it breaks again and it's neither the cat nor the traffic. It's not the hookers on the street or the druggies in the alleyways.

It's a gentle knock on the door, created by a carefully tightened fist and a couple of trembling lips.

It's you.

And after a split second the silence is back with your fingers in my hair and your lips roughly pressed against mine. Your silent moans for me to swallow and your body tightly pressed against mine.

Not even the sound of the closing door can break through.

We're not saying anything. Just letting our lips speak for themselves. Letting our hands speak those thousand languages we never learned but still know like the back of our own hands. Some things stay the same in every language, they say.

These things do.

In many ways I want to say that I've waited for this moment, but yet at the same time I don't know what this is. While it's familiar, it's rather distant. Because we can read everything and every single movement yet at the same time we can't unravel a single thing.

It's a foreign silence and its nameless kisses. It's foreign hands yet such a well-known touch. Such a safe touch.

Your hands have moved from being tangled inside the tresses of my hair and are now slowly making their way down my back, resting at the small of it. Rubbing small circles and this time I moan loudly. I moan loudly but none of us can hear it. We can only feel the vibrations throb its way down through are mouths down are throats, creating an earthquake inside us.

Your free hand roams freely under my tank top and it feels like my skin is on fire. You can feel it too and so are you. We could self ignite like this. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all, because we're burning up so beautifully and we're burning so strongly.

This is your responsibility. This one is on you. And you're leaning us down on the bed and I don't even think we've broken apart for air yet. We have enough locked inside of us, igniting us more.

I can feel your thigh press down between my legs and I instinctively spread them further apart. You always knew where to press down. You've always known. And it's yet another thing that makes all of this so familiar. But your hands feel different. Your fire feels hotter than ever before.

I'm fumbling with your button and zipper, as if it was the first time this was happening. As if I'm nervous. As if you're a fire I have to put out.

And maybe you are.

Maybe we both are.

And I think you feel it too.

Because you're putting your hand over mine. Stilling my awkward fingers. Slowly unbuttoning yourself and looking straight at me for the first time.

You're looking at me right in the eyes and telling me it's ok.

You're telling me that all of this is familiar because it should be.

You're telling me it feels right because it is.

And you're telling me that it feels like a first time, because in some ways it is.

And I meet your steady darkened eyes with a pair of my own that tells you through the silenced moans and strokes that it's ok if you leave me tonight. That it's ok if you stay too. Because I have waited so long for something that has always been right beside me. Right in front of me. Right inside me.

And it's ok if we burn for the last time now, or if we'll burn forever.

Anything is ok – as long as we have this.

And we do.

We do.

Because you close your eyes and kiss me hard and I kiss you back as if life depended on this. And in some ways it feels like it does.

So we keep burning.

Hoping it will be enough.


	14. I Always Knew You

**A/N: I'm really really sorry for keeping you guys waiting. My computer crashed two weeks ago and I've had the weeks of hell trying to get it fixed again. So that's why it's taken so long. This is the last chapter of this story, I hope you've enjoyed it. I know it's not smutty, fluffy or witty. Maybe next time I'll try to include more of that. In the mean time, thank you EVERYONE for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it. ENJOY! **

* * *

**Chapter 14.** I Always Knew You

We burned throughout the morning. Throughout the whole day. We burned as long as we could. As long as the flames could muster. As long as we've ever been able to hold our breaths.

And I recognize this. I recognize the setting sun against my naked skin and the rise and fall from your chest that indicates you still being fast asleep. There is something familiar with the scent of your skin. There is something familiar with all of this.

Maybe it's because it's you. Maybe it's the fact that no matter how many years that passes, nothing can change who you are to me. Who you were to me. Who you'll remain as inside these shattered walls that belongs to my equally shattered heart. Maybe it's because the scent that is you has a place so completely hidden inside your skin, you'll never be able to wash it off. To give it away or cover it with a new disguise. It's the slightest mixture of vanilla and ocean salt that is so deeply buried inside you that you'll never be able to forget it. And neither can I.

As I slowly begin to untangle my arm from your waist I can feel how you begin to stir. How you slowly and carefully start to bring us down to the reality that I'm way too afraid to face right now. Too scared for what it's bringing.

"Hey you". A raspy and exhausted voice suddenly comes to life, and it's the sweetest one I've ever heard. A voice I know all too well and never want to loose again.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.." I quietly respond.

"It's ok." A small chuckle escapes from your lips. "I guess it's time anyway.. it's already getting late".

And I'm scared. I'm so scared that you'll just get up and leave, scared that you'll suddenly realize what has happened and what might not happen ever again. Afraid the time is only counting the seconds that is left between us.

"Yeah.." I answer as quietly as possible. Hoping no one really heard it. Yet hoping the answer would be enough for her not to question it. 'Cause I'm too afraid to say something else. I'm too afraid to say something that would make this already sinking ball tip over and take us both down with it.

It's quiet. It's a silence that fills every tiny living part in this room and refuses to even grant the outside traffic some space or even the passing feet in the hallway. No. The only thing we can hear is my tremulous heartbeats against your chest.

But I have to know. I have to know why you came. I have to pass the shallow waters to actually know what it feels like to be drowning in darkness. And to see the light at the end of it. To know the truth. Because it's something I've never known before.

And no matter how hard I try to stop myself from going there, I can't help it. The words tumble out of my mouth before I even have time to register them in the first place.

"Why did you come?"

And it's barely over a whisper. Afraid that the louder I say it, the harder it will come crashing down.

And you're quiet. You're quiet, as if it was something you had to think about. As if you had to find a good reason to why she came. A reason that would be enough.

"Because I wanted to."

And that's all you're giving me. That's the only answer I get. And you said it with such a determination as if it was a matter of course. So natural and obvious I'd be dumb for even questioning it in the first place. As if it spoke for itself. As if it suddenly gave me the answer i've been looking for all these years.

But it gave me nothing. It gave me nothing and I'm too scared to ask for more. I'm too scared of the deep end and the burning sand at the bottom. I'm too scared because we burned up a long time ago and are now just fumbling around in the ashes, hoping the find a rising Fenix somewhere. Hoping to find something that will get us out of here.

So I just keep quiet. I lay still. Against your chest with my arm safely wrapped around your waist again. Holding on for dear life as I hear how you inhale and start talking again. Feeling the vibrations of your voice along your midsection where you're gathering all the air you need to say this.

"I waited so long for you to come back."

A pause.

And I wait for you to continue. Because you're taking an even deeper breath that silently tells me that there is more to come. More then I'll ever know.

"The first year I understood why you didn't return. I wouldn't have done it either. I started wondering the second year though. And by the third year I gave up. You never came. You never called. And I'm not blaming you. I could might as well have done something. I could've visited you. I could've called you. But I was too scared. Just like I was all those years ago. Just like I was when I left you in the first place."

And a sigh. A sigh larger and heavier then anything I've ever heard before. And it felt like if you even took the remaining air from my lungs to breathe out the weight of your troubling world.

"I started seeing her when I knew you wouldn't come back. She was there for me. I never told her about you and she didn't ask."

You want to talk. I can feel it. You want to tell me. You wants to explain and I'll let you. I'll let you exhale all the sighs you need to get rid of. The sighs you never managed to get out before.

So I'm showing you that I'm listening in the only way I can. The only way I've ever known. Drawing circles on the soft skin of your stomach. Counting the freckles. Outlining the pattern they create.

And you're giving away the tiniest laughter filled with such a sadness I've never heard coming from you before.

"She never asked why I started to cry when she once drew patterns on my stomach. Just like you always did."

And suddenly I stop.

Suddenly, the body underneath me feels so unbelievably unknown that I'm too afraid to touch it. Suddenly that body belongs to someone else and suddenly I'm more than aware of it.

"No, don't stop. Please. She never asked me about it when I cried, but she never did it again, Naomi. There are some things people will never understand. Some things that people will never be able to see when it comes to my relationship with you."

Pause.

"And it's not something I'll ever be able to explain either. I can't explain the butterflies that come to life inside my stomach when you touch me. Or the emptiness inside that only grew each step you took away from me. The only thing I know is that I can't allow myself to lose you again. You know?"

And I do know. I know more then ever but I'm too afraid to let go of the concrete walls I've built these past years. I'm too afraid to break these barriers and show you the stitches around the broken heart I've been carrying around underneath my ribcage all this time. As if the bones would be enough to protect me from her.

"But I can't hold on to you, if don't allow me to."

And just like that the ball is in my court. Just like that she's asking me to make the biggest decision of my life. And I can't get a single word out. I don't know what to say. So that's exactly what I say.

"I.. I don't know, Ems. I don't know what to say."

"Say whatever you feel like. Yell at me. Hit me. Hate me for everything I've done if you want to… just.. just please Naomi, please. Don't shut me out. Don't."

And it's quiet again. Because it's the sound of nothing that carries me trough this. It's the sound of nothing that makes me realize I never want to hear it again.

"I never shut you out. I just needed the time to figure everything out. But I still needed you. I've always needed you."

"Then let me."

I can feel a barely even there kiss against my forehead.

A barely even there mark to tell me that it's all alright.

"Just let me.."

And I'm going to. I'm going to let her. And I'm going to let myself try. Troughout my life I've always loved with my fingers crossed. Just hoped for the best and turned my back when the worst came to worst.

But it's finally time for my actions to speak louder. This is the time to uncross the fingers and build my own future. Take control. It's time for me to love with my heart and not my hopes. It's time for me to love just for the sake of loving.

And I am.

I may not know what the future will bring and I may not know where this will take me but I'm counting the freckles on her velvety pale skin and it doesn't matter that someone else has noticed them. No, it doesn't matter because I'm the one touching them again.

Counting them.

Kissing them.

And this is my story to tell. My picture to show.

And it's a picture that says more than a thousand words.

It says everything.


End file.
